


fire up the limelight

by leadbitter



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Bristol Derby, Bristol Rovers F.C., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 14:23:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14813066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leadbitter/pseuds/leadbitter
Summary: Over a pint in a dimly lit pub in the centre of Bath, they decide it is about Bristol. Neither of them from the area, but know it well enough to have an opinion. All the lads Ellis knew from the academy, young Bristolians with a bite and that West Country friendliness if you dig deep enough - like Linesy and Ollie, Luke and Alfie. That grit, that determination, growing up in a city like this, you’re fucked if you’re not tough.





	fire up the limelight

**Author's Note:**

> contains bristol derby feels , me falsely predicting the future, and my eternal hatred (and vague forgiveness) of matty taylor 
> 
>  
> 
> disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and not intented to represent or speculate on the real lives of any person, only using their likeness to write a story

In the late winter, they go south of the river and they win. By this time, Ellis has pretty much accepted that the universe is out to mess with his mind as much as possible. Torn between a burning hatred and absolute joy and nostalgic sadness when Matty misses from two yards out in extra time, and Ellis takes the ball up the other end of the pitch and scores in front of two and a half thousand away fans jumping for joy. On his knees on the halfway line, dejected in red; Ellis can pick out the voice of a Rovers fan: _give him fucking ‘ell ellis!_

(They’re into the fourth round of the FA Cup, but the derby is the win. That’s what his goal will be remembered for; injury time winner against the scum and that’s why he loves it. North Bristol forcing the south purple, draping the red of Ashton Gate in a blanket of _Goodnight Irene_ and blue.)

 

Ellis sits between Adam and Locks in the changing room, turns up the music so it’s _blaring_ and he just wants them to know that _yes, yes we are gloating and you can fucking cry about it all you want._

Because, see Bristol has always been blue, but it’s taken harder work from the north to prove it, and now they’ve got the evidence wrapped all pretty in a bow: 1990 and Rickie Lambert’s volley (2013 is a scar on Rovers history and Joe Bryan is still hated but now there’s a new late, derby-winning goal scorer: Ellis _fucking_ Harrison.) The latest addition: _2019, 0-1._

 

Matty catches up with him before the coach, because of course he does. From the way he’d sprinted across the car park, he’d been in a right hurry, which essentially means Aden’s told him to come over.

Ellis hates City, but Aden has links with Billy, from their time at Swindon, and as a result he talks with him sometimes. And occasionally, they drink together, in all those dodgy bars along Stokes Croft, and they _talk_ : mostly avoiding football and everything that separates them, but it slips from time to time, when they’ve drunk a lot, and Matty comes up.

“You alright?” Matty says, completely unironically, with that look in his eyes. Ellis laughs almost manically.

“You just missed a sitter in one of the biggest derbies in the country and you’re asking me if i’m alright?” He shakes his head, smiling. “Fuckin’ hell Tayls.”

He doesn’t look as bothered as Ellis thinks he should be, but this is the same man who swapped one Bristol club for another and nothing shocks him anymore.

Matty chuckles lightly and looks down. “I’ll wear a trench coat and a Russian hat around town. Don’t you worry about me mate.”

“Not worried about you.” And Ellis can’t quite seem to get out what he wants to say- no, scratch that. He doesn’t know what to say. Because it was just the biggest match of the season and Matty’s right in front of him still in his City kit, and Ellis wonders what it would be like if he still played in blue alongside him. Grabbing him, 90+4, screaming from sheer delight, his hand lingering on his waist for a second too long, celebrating at Ellis and Tom’s and - frivolous and hopeful thoughts.

Matty frowns and Ellis’s heart hurts. “Didn’t expect you too, like.” And he starts to walk backwards and all Ellis can see is **_Taylor 10_** \- bold in white on red. He sighs and rubs his eyes.

“Come on then,” Ellis calls back. “Drinks are on me.”

Matty’s shoulders relaxed and Ellis knew that little grin was on his face. “Alright,” He says without turning around. “Want me to change or should i just come out in my kit?”

In some ways, Ellis is glad he’s taking the piss; at least some things haven't changed. “Fuck off. I’ll be waiting.”

He ignores the flutter in his heart.

 

  
Darrell doesn’t look happy when Ellis tells him he’s not going back with them, but as soon as he mentions Matty his eyes soften. “You be careful lad,” He instructs responsibly. “Stay away from Bristol. Don’t be daft.”

Ellis reckons he knows more than he's letting on, but he’s giving you that look like _get out of here before i make you._ So Ellis stands by what he knows is Matty’s car at half past eleven at night, when all the angry reds and gloating blues have gone home or hit the pubs, waiting for him to appear. The air is chilling to the bone and it smells like cigarettes and pasty’s, but there’s a warmth in Ellis’s stomach that has nothing to do with the weather at all.

“Oi!” A loud voice startles him and echoes around the empty car park. Ellis looks up, and there he is, strutting across the concrete like he hasn’t just lost a derby, with a little smile on his face.

“Hurry up! I’m freezing myself to death here Tayls.” Even though he’s not; if anything he’s unnaturally warm, but anything to make Matty feel guilty because he _should_ feel bad. He’s probably got contracts out on his life for the second time in his career and he doesn’t seem to care, not even a flicker in face. He’s too comfortable, Ellis realises belatedly. Spent too long in Gloucestershire, too long being the star and it hasn’t sunk in that he’ll be waiting a long time to be the main man in this City team (maybe he doesn’t quite understand he was bought out of spite and hatred, merely a pawn in Johnson’s weird little game.)

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Matty chuckles, unlocking the car and roughly chucking his bag on back seat. Ellis gets in the passenger's seat while Matty fiddles around with the radio, settling on Heart or some other late night drivel.

“Not dramatic, just cold.” Ellis grumbles and peers into the compartment between the seats. “Can i have these tic tacs?”

Matty glances down and narrows his eyes. “You can have five, _max_.”

“Cor you’re kind, aren’t you?” But he shakes them out into his hand anyway.

Matty turns the ignition, and the car settles into a comfortable quiet, only the tinny sound of midnight radio humming in the dark. The tiredness is setting into Ellis’s bones, that dull mid season ache that reverberates throughout the team and now it’s smacking Ellis in the face, like it always does after a night game. His eyes flutter shut.

 

“Els!” A smack lands on your shoulder. Ellis shakes himself awake. Matty’s still driving. “Don’t fall asleep on me, yeah.”

Blinking furiously, he sits up in his seat and looks out the window. A flash of graffiti catches his eye, in fact they’re passing through the rows of street art Ellis has become so accustomed to. Ellis sighs and rubs his eyes.

“Are you actually going to Stokes? Are you fucking daft?” Ellis mutters, half annoyed, half shocked at Matty’s ignorance.

Not taking his eyes off the road, he replies, “Where else am i meant to go then Els?”

Matty genuinely looks confused, passing street lights casting shadows across his face.

“Bath, Gloucester, fucking Cardiff if you really want to push it!” Ellis rants, running his fingers through his hair and leaning forward to turn down the music. “I don’t fancy getting glassed by some City fan, and neither do you. Mind you, i wouldn’t be shocked if you enjoyed it.” He mumbles the last bit, not quite sure if he wants Matty to hear him.

“Steady on mate,” Matty looks at him then, eyes soft and eyebrows furrowed. “We’ll go into Bath, alright?”

He breathes heavily. “Yeah.”

 

  
Over a pint in a dimly lit pub in the centre of Bath, they decide it is about Bristol. Neither of them from the area, but know it well enough to have an opinion. All the lads Ellis knew from the academy, young Bristolians with a bite and that West Country friendliness if you dig deep enough - like Linesy and Ollie, Luke and Alfie. That grit, that determination, growing up in a city like this, you’re fucked if you’re not tough.

And there’s all them in the stands - solid concrete terraces and battered roofs - turning up for the passion and the english nights when everyone's packed in to the rafters and you can hear the Blackthorn all the way to Filton. Born out of the Avon and Ellis is on that line too, in spirit; his mum driving him over the Severn every week. Matty on it in a looser sense, more forced from longevity than actual love. But that’s the lure of it, the way the club makes anyone their own.

  
Matty gives him that look, like _have a look over there_ , and tilts his head towards the door, mouths toilet. It’s fairly obvious what he’s getting at, but Ellis can’t help peering back: three Rovers fans with sparkling eyes that would probably kiss Ellis and cave in Matty’s skull (Bristol doesn’t forget). Less than subtly, he gets up wobbling and backtracks towards where he thinks the toilets are, Matty ducking his head and shoving Ellis forward when the fans approach the bar.

“Hurry up!” He hisses. “I don’t wanna die tonight, yeah?”

Ellis raises his eyebrows and stops. “Ah! So now he cares.”

“Fuck off.”

 

In the safety of a surprisingly not-grim toilet, Matty asks, “What d’you mean by that?”

“What?”

“About me not caring.”

And how is Ellis meant to explain the betrayal and the stupidity and that he was only ever being used? Matty doesn’t understand, that when the sun rises over the Suspension Bridge, it sets over Easton. The small riches of City always overshadow the struggle in the north; a bottom three budget and surviving every year, next to no credit. The embarrassment of the situation, not losing Matty but losing him to City, because what does that make them look like, eh? Even their best players have no respect and all that ‘small club’ - _Matty Taylor is a red_ ; is he fuck.

Ellis wonders sometimes, if Matty still thinks he made the right decision. Him saying at the time - _too hard to resist_ \- all those things in the press like a knife in the back, him grinning widely like the smug cunt he is. When Johnson was getting death threats (wouldn’t stop banging on about it to the Post, Ellis thinking _what were you expecting_?), when Matty had to move away from the heavily Rovers northern outskirts, when Rovers were being slated by the public. Probably woke up each morning, triple wages, and was just glad he was more than a charcoal scar on the side of the West Country fields.

“It was nothing mate.”

Matty looks at him sceptically. Ellis could tell him everything, all the things he’d tell Aden in a drunken state because he knew he wouldn’t say a word, every single thing that's been brewing under the surface every time they’ve met up in town. It might make it better knowing where he stood.

“Genuinely!” He insists. “It’s nothing.”

It’s not a lie, it probably would be nothing to Matty, but he steps closer to Ellis and says, “I know I left but … you can still tell me stuff, yeah?” and here he lowers his eyes to the ground. “Look, I’m not thick. I get the resentment, and I actually wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again.”

Ellis swallows and, in a strange spike of pure confidence, lifts Matty’s chin so their eyes meet. “Shut up, you prick.” Might as well tell him the truth then. “I fucking hate City, and I fucking hate that you moved there. It was flat out embarrassing. But i don’t hate you.”

The Rovers fans in the bar are probably talking about the derby right now, about Matty _fucking_ Taylor and Ellis _fucking_ Harrison; two names said in completely different inflection when three years ago they would have both been sang with the same unbridled joy as they snatch promotion on the final day.

Matty’s adam's apple bobs and his eyes flicker down to where Ellis’ hand still rests, then up to his face. And Ellis might be making stuff up, wouldn’t be shocked with the state of him at the moment, but Matty is suddenly inches away from his face and - BANG!

The doors of the toilets smash open as a flurry of noise hits the small room; the bar must have filled up. Ellis feels himself being pushed into an open stall and the door locking behind them. And all of a sudden all Ellis can see is Matty, Matty, Matty.

Matty’s hands come up to his shirt, touching fitfully until Ellis catches his hands.

“Cheers for- yeah.” He mumbles, leaning forward. “The truth.” Matty’s got a little grin on his face, like he can’t quite believe whats happening. Ellis’ heart is going a mile a minute in his chest.

Ellis looks at himself in the mirror some days, still looks young, but his mum tells him he’s old beyond his age. Leaning towards Matty, half-cocked desire and the knife-edged _fuck you’s_ , he can barely believe what’s happening either. The men are still outside the stall, and their lips brush against each other. “Fucking hell Matty.” Ellis whispers, and he reaches up and kisses him.

His mouth is strikingly hot and wet with the taste of apple cider. Ellis knees weaken and his hands grip themselves in Matty’s shirt, getting so much of what he wanted it was overwhelming. Fingertips brushing bare skin and Matty smiles into his mouth, crumpling Ellis’ shirt. Nothing like anything else he’d ever felt before, Matty’s heart beating out of his chest against Ellis’.

Right there in a pub in Bath, Ellis finds out how easy it is to tell the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> eve xx
> 
> tumblr: jordpickford


End file.
